Maroon vs Orange
by MiraiMera
Summary: RedvsBlue. Post-Revelation. SLASH. Simmons/Grif. Now that the Meta's been defeated, life goes back to normal for our unlikely heroes...right?
1. Chapter 1

SPOILER ALERT! This takes place following the events of Revelation.

Disclaimer: Halo belongs to Bungie, and Red vs Blue (and its characters) belongs to the geniuses at Rooster Teeth. On another note, I loosely based the appearances of the characters on the fanart done by Luke McKay (but I do mean loosely).

Warnings: The is going to be a slash fanfiction, so if you are homophobic, or simply can't approve of your favorite RvB characters having man-sex, then you should leave, for your own good (we wouldn't want you scarred for life, now would we?).

Author's note: I have not been writing in a very long time, but I'm now on a RvB kick, and I couldn't help myself. But please be kind to someone who's a bit rusty and read and review. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.

Chapter I

Things had changed here in Valhalla. The Reds and Blues returned after an intense and tragic battle, in which they had lost their comrades, Tex and Church, who had become trapped in the Epsilon unit, locked away somewhere in Command's storage facility. Agent Washington faked his own death and joined the Blue Army, and Sarge, of the Red Army, had lost interest in a war that he now knew was a hoax – just a training simulation for Freelancers. Instead, the two armies had put their disputes aside and had become almost friendly, engaging in their own simulation war games and competitions.

Grif was happy that the war they had been fighting turned out to be nothing but a hoax – it meant less work for him, and more time napping. Sarge still gave him a hard time, but he didn't mind quite as much anymore. Simmons, though, had gotten even more aggravating for the orange-clad Spartan. Grif figured that since Simmons no longer had any reason to live (as being a soldier and kiss-ass was his only purpose in life), the maroon soldier was taking his frustration out on him.

This afternoon, Grif was off napping on the grass by the creek between the two bases, his Mjolnr helmet laying beside him. Well, that was until a certain Red private had taken the napping soldier's helmet and scooped some of the creek water into it, before pouring said water all over his napping teammate's face.

"Ahh—wha-?" Grif jolted awake and upright, dripping wet and wiping the remaining water off his face. He then saw the maroon armored legs beside him and he looked up to see the rest of the man who rudely woke him from his slumber.

"God damnit Simmons! What the hell was that for?" Grif exclaimed, glaring at his comrade. He scrambled to his feet, standing face to helmet with Simmons, though the helmeted soldier was slightly taller than the dripping wet one.

"You shouldn't be sleeping on the job, asshole." The maroon armored man replied.

"Job? What job? It's all fake! All we do is play capture the flag! We play fucking games every day out here now!" Grif's hands clenched tight by his sides as he ground out his words.

"Doesn't matter, fucktard. We're still soldiers, so we should still act like soldiers." Simmons' glared inside his helmet. "Now put your helmet back on and get back to work." Simmons dropped Grif's soaked helmet at his feet before walking away back to their base.

Grif picked the helmet up, glaring at Simmons' back while the private walked away from him. He then tried to shake the remaining water out of it, sighed, and ran his fingers through his now dripping wet hair. "Fucking asshole…" he muttered to himself, before heading back to base himself.

When Grif arrived, he was surprised to see a certain flamboyant soldier up and about in their tiny kitchen, fixing himself something to eat. "Donut! Are you okay to be up walking around right now?"

"Yeah, I'm fine! Happy to be able to do things for myself, finally." Donut was gathering some things from the cabinets, clad only in fatigue pants, with bandages wrapped around his torso, dressing the wound that Agent Washington had previously inflicted on him. For a while the young man had been unconscious, assumed to be dead because his heart beat had become so weak from the near-fatal wound. After returning from their mission to fight Washington and the Meta, they found him where they had left him, hanging onto life by the armor's life support system. When they had realized he was still alive by some miracle, they hurried him to back to their base and properly dressed his wound. Caboose had volunteered to look after him, because for some reason he had taken a liking to the pink private, and surprisingly, he made a decent caretaker.

Donut cringed when he reached for something on one of the higher shelves, and Grif walked over to grab the item the smaller, injured man was reaching for. "Hey, don't rip those stitches out, rookie, it was a pain in the ass closing that bullet wound in your chest."

Donut took the item from Grif's hands and thanked him, clearly embarrassed that he was still not completely self-sufficient.

Grif headed back to the bunk he shared with Simmons and Donut, and changed out of his armor and into fatigues and a wife beater, feeling much more comfortable after he did so. Rubbing the stubble on his face, he headed into the bathroom and went about shaving. When he was done, he studied himself in the mirror for a brief moment. He saw that he was fairly slender (despite his poor eating habits), but not quite as muscular as Simmons or Sarge (because he avoided any real work, including exercise), and his dark brown hair had long since grown out from his military crew cut, messily framing his face and bright blue eyes.

As he walked from the bathroom back to his room, he passed Simmons, who ignored his presence. "Hey, Dick-weed." Grif said.

Simmons, whose helmet was now tucked under his arm, merely glared at him in response, and continued walking. Simmons looked to be the exact opposite of Grif – his caramel brown hair was short and tidy, his face was chiseled, and his musculature was obvious under his armor. He even walked differently than Grif – with an air of purpose tinted with cockiness.

Grif sighed, and continued outside, where he lit up a cigarette in the shade beside the base.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the fact that they were playing capture the flag, they were still using live rounds. Sarge insisted on it. Grif thought that even though his Commanding Officer had given up on this fallacy of a war, he still had a sadistic, murderous streak, hence the use of real ammo during a game. He at least thought to himself that it was relatively safe, since no one in Valhalla but Agent Washington had good enough aim to land a shot, and their Mjolnr armor was fairly good at protecting them from the scuffle.

Grif stood behind his base, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette, watching the waves hit the beach in front of him. He heard the radio in the helmet at his feet call his name and insult him, commanding him to get his "lazy, good-for-nothing ass back out into the field to capture the god-damn flag", but in his typical fashion, he simply ignored it.

A few minutes and cigarettes later, Simmons came around to the back of the base where Grif stood. "Grif, Sarge told you to get your-"

Grif interrupted, "Lazy, good for nothing ass back out there. Yeah, I heard him."

"Well then do it."

"No."

Simmons stepped up to Grif, towering impassively over him. "Go. Now."

"Bite me, Simmons." Grif said, before blowing cigarette smoke at the other private's helmeted face.

Simmons stood there for a moment, and then suddenly butted his rifle hard into Grif's gut, where the armor was weak. The orange Spartan grunted in pain, doubled over, dropping his cigarette. "What the fuck, Simmons?"

"Get out there and…Do. Your. Job. Or I'll beat the shit out of you."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you…beating me to a pulp. I'm not giving you the satisfaction." Grif grabbed his helmet from the ground and put it on, before grabbing the rifle beside him and walking out into the field. Grif thought that it was only getting more apparent that his maroon-clad teammate was becoming more and more of an asshole each day. And he was barely tolerable before.

Donut wandered out from inside the base. He had been resting, on Sarge's orders to recuperate. "What's going on out here? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine Donut, don't worry about it. Go back inside." Simmons said to the blonde. He then followed after Grif to resume the game.

Donut stared after him, noting that his teammate had been acting very strange lately.

Grif meanwhile was out on the field, half-heartedly firing at Tucker who was running for the Red base, attempting to capture their flag. He didn't notice that Caboose had picked up the sniper rifle and stood aiming at him from the top of the Blue base, but Simmons, with his cybernetically enhanced vision, did. And Simmons ran straight for the orange Spartan. Within seconds, Simmons had flung himself at his teammate, toppling the two of them just as a sniper round whizzed by.

It took a few moments for Grif to register what happened, and to realize that Simmons was on top of him. "Simmons? What the hell..?"

Simmons scrambled up to a kneeling position in front of Grif, and once Grif sat up he removed the orange soldier's helmet, revealing a very confused expression on the man's face. Then, without warning, he punched Grif square in the jaw. Simmons then stood up and threw the other man's helmet to the ground. "God damnit, Grif! You're such a dumbass that I have to keep you out of trouble! You're a fucking idoit!"

Meanwhile Agent Washington had grabbed the sniper rifle away from Caboose, berating him for using a weapon that the teams agreed would be off limits, due to the extreme danger of its armor piercing rounds. It also appeared that the action on the field came to a halt, as everyone had stopped to watch the exchange between the two Red soldiers.

Grif rubbed his jaw and glared at the other man, but he was at a loss for words as Simmons retreated back to the base. After Simmons walked away, Tucker walked up to him and helped him up off the ground. "What's that guy's problem?" He asked.

"I have no fucking idea." Grif replied, glaring at the retreating figure in maroon.

A short while later, Grif returned to his base, exhausted from the game and ready for a shower. He walked into the bathroom and stripped, throwing his armor into the corner and headed for the showers, where he found Simmons, who was already in there bathing. Grif glared at the other man's bare back and then started bathing at one of the showers furthest from his comrade. He couldn't help but occasionally glance at the other man as they bathed, sending a glare in his direction each time. But each time he looked, he couldn't help but notice how conventionally attractive the other man was, despite the numerous large scars across his muscular body that remained where his cybernetic body parts were installed beneath the skin. Grif couldn't help but think that the other man was much more attractive than himself, and he was a little jealous of Simmons' good looks. He often wondered if the other Spartan had a girlfriend back home, but right now, with Simmons' attitude the way it had been lately, he didn't really give a damn about anything relating to him.

Simmons finished bathing before Grif and the man walked away in silence, a towel wrapped around his hips. Shortly thereafter, Grif finished as well, and he too wrapped himself in a towel and headed back to their bunk, though he was not happy knowing he'd most likely be running into Simmons again in the room.

And to Grif's dismay, Simmons was there, still wrapped in his towel, pulling some fatigues out to dress. Grif walked up to his own bed, grabbing his own fatigues that lay in a heap on the unmade bed, when he felt a hand close tightly around his wrist. Before he could react, the cybernetic arm of Simmons had pinned his own arm against his back.

"What the fuck, Simmons!" Grif struggled to escape the taller man's grasp, but was unable, as the other man's cybernetic enhancements made him infinitely stronger than him.

Grif was met with silence, though he could feel the other man's breath on his neck. He knew he was in a very, very bad situation. With all the threatening Simmons had been doing to him lately, he expected his comrade might try something, but he had let his guard down, and now he was at his mercy. To Grif, it seemed like minutes passed, though he knew it was probably only a few moments, while his captor held him, his arm contorted against his back, in silence. And then, just as suddenly as Simmons had grabbed him, he just released him. Grif spun around to meet the other man's eyes, glaring at him in defiance. Simmons glared back, but Grif could see something else in his jade-colored eyes, but he didn't know what, exactly, it was.

"You know, you're really starting to piss me off…" Grif said, still glaring at the other man.

Simmons continued to glare back at him in silence for what felt like hours. Grif was becoming more uncomfortable with this situation with each second that passed, wondering if the other soldier was about to beat him to a pulp, or even kill him, as he had promised on numerous occasions. He felt his heart pounding in his chest with anxiety, and he just wanted Simmons to get this over with, so maybe he would be satisfied and he'd just leave him alone.

Then, Simmons turned on his heel and grabbed his own clothes from the bed, and walked off to the bathroom. Grif couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief once he was gone. He dressed, and then all but ran outside for a cigarette.


	3. Chapter 3

It was later that evening when Grif saw Simmons again. Grif was sitting on the ground outside in his usual spot behind the base in his fatigues, watching the waster reflect the moon's light, smoking (as usual), when a similarly clad Simmons walked up to him. He didn't know what the other man wanted this time, and he didn't really care. He was done being Simmons' punching bag, and he was going to let him know. "What the hell do you want? Did you come here to assault me again?"

Simmons didn't respond, he merely narrowed his eyes and then looked away toward the water.

"I'm getting really fucking sick of your attitude. I don't know what I did to piss you off, but I'm getting really fucking sick of your bullshit." Grif put his cigarette out on the ground, then stood up, face to face with his teammate. Simmons had that strange look in his eye again, and he was afraid that he was about to do the same thing to him that he had done earlier, but none-the-less, Grif stood staring defiantly at the other man, as if daring him to attack.

Simmons looked back toward Grif and then advanced on him. Grif stepped backwards until he was flush against the wall of the base, and Simmons stood uncomfortably close to him. Grif shifted to the side, about to dart away, when a cybernetic arm blocked his way, and Simmons leaned in. Grif attempted to dart out the other way, and another arm blocked him.

The two stared at each other, both sets of eyes glaring at the other, and then, Simmons leaned in even closer and roughly and forcefully placed his own lips on Grif's. Instictively, Grif tried to push the larger man away, but Simmons grabbed each of his wrists and pinned them over his head against the wall, while he forcefully gained access to the inside of the smaller man's mouth with his tongue.

Grif struggled in the grip of the other man, and gasped when he felt Simmons' leg rub against his groin. He didn't know what was going on, but he wanted it to end. He was terrified of it going any further, but he knew that if Simmons kept going, he wouldn't be able to stop him. And there was no one there to help him, or even hear him scream, because both Donut and Sarge had gone over to Blue base to trade some merchandise with the Blues. So he was all alone, and at this rate, Simmons would have his way with him.

The smaller soldier finally managed to pull away from the heated and forceful kiss of his assailant, only to feel lips on his neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. "S-Stop this…please…Simmons…PLEASE!" He begged the other man to stop, and then, it stopped. His wrists were released and his comrade backed away.

Grif was breathing heavily and his heart was beating wildly in his chest. He couldn't look the other man in the eye, instead he stared at the ground, while the other man walked away from him back into the base. Grif leaned against the wall and slid down to the ground. He placed his head in his hand and sat there in silence, trying to understand what just happened.

The next morning at breakfast, neither Grif nor Simmons looked at the other, instead they stared into their respective coffee mugs. Grif was still struggling over the events of the previous night. He couldn't understand what happened, or why it happened, and he didn't want to think about what would have happened if Simmons hadn't backed off. He was humiliated, too. He was used to being the butt of the Red Army's jokes, and he was used to the typical abuse he got from Sarge and Simmons, but this was different. He was truly taken advantage of, he was really being used. And it scared him that he could do nothing to stop it. He was powerless against Simmons, because he was no match for a cyborg, and if Simmons decided to assault him again, he'd be helpless.

Later that day Grif asked Sarge for a transfer, but he was turned down because Command would not be accepting transfer requests for at least six months, as they already had a long lists of requests to put into effect. Grif was more than a little disappointed that he'd have to remain in Valhalla for at least another six months. He just wanted to transfer away from Simmons, because he feared what the situation between them would progress to.

Grif spent most of his time avoiding being left alone with Simmons. He volunteered for patrols and guard duty just to stay away from him. It worked most of the time. Except this one time.

Grif had returned from a late-night patrol and entered his room as quietly as possible to avoid waking his teammates. He undressed in the dark and slid quietly into his bed, knowing that as long as Donut was around, Simmons wouldn't try anything. Little did he know that Donut was not there that night – he was spending the night at Blue base (Caboose had invited him over for a 'sleepover'). Just as he was gently drifting off to sleep, his blankets were thrown off of him and he found himself pinned to the bed by another man.

He was stunned for a moment, and then realization and fear sunk in. "You've been avoiding me." Simmons stated.

"Yeah right I've been avoiding you, you pervert...!" Grif ground out in response as he tried to move his pinned arms in vain.

"I need to tell you something, and I need you to listen to me." Simmons said.

"What the fuck would you need to say to me, you asshole!" Grif's heart was again beating wildly in his chest, and he would barely breathe with the weight of the man on top of him.

"I'm sorry." Simmons sounded bitter, but strangely, not threatening, like he had been lately.

"What?" Grif stared at the dark form above him, wide-eyed.

"I said I'm sorry…for the way I've been acting lately." Simmons still sounded bitter, but oddly sincere.

It took Grif a few moments to register Simmons' words, but once he did he all but yelled back at him, "You should be sorry, you fucking asshole! I'm sick of your god-damn bullshit!"

"Grif, fucking listen to me…I'm not done!" Simmons tried to maintain a whisper, so as to not wake Sarge in the room next door.

Grif stared incredulously at the man above him, though he could barely make out his features in the dark.

"When we were fighting the Meta and he dragged you off the cliff, something changed in me. I didn't understand it, and it just made me angry, and you made me angry" Simmons sighed, then continued, "I started having all these strange feelings when I was around you, and I couldn't handle it, so I just took it out on you. And then, the other day, something snapped, and it was a long time coming. I mistreated you, and I'm sorry." Simmons shifted his weight and crawled off the bed, and climbed back into his own, freeing Grif, who stared at the ceiling, confused.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Grif asked.

"When you nearly died, I realized that I had fallen in love with you."


	4. Chapter 4

Grif was confused as he lay in bed in the dark room he shared with his teammates. Simmons had just confessed his love for him, and now, he was confused. He couldn't understand why Simmons would be in love with him, when he does nothing but treat him like trash. But then again, he had molested him, (for lack of a better word), and when he thought about it, it seemed like Simmons had been wanting to do that for a while. And, while he never realized this before, when he told the maroon soldier to stop, he did.

The next day at breakfast, Grif stared at Simmons over his cup of coffee and Simmons smiled back, which had visibly shocked him. It seemed like all of Simmons' attitude the past few weeks just melted away, and he was his normal self again, maybe nicer, even. The maroon soldier even took it upon himself to refill Grif's coffee mug when it went dry.

Later that day Grif found himself outside, in his usual spot, smoking and watching the sea. He was more than a little surprised when a certain maroon-clad soldier sat down beside him. They sat for a few minutes in silence, but not like the kind of silence usually between the two, this time, it was easy and comfortable, like they didn't need to talk to spend time together. Grif decided he didn't mind this feeling, and slowly he began to forgive the other man for his previous behavior.

"You know," Simmons started, "you really shouldn't smoke, it's bad for your health…and my lungs…"

"Well if these lungs of yours give out, I'll just have Sarge make me a cyborg just like you. I'll be Grif 2.0" Grif laughed. "I like the sound of that, I think."

"I know I already apologized, Grif, but I feel I need to say again that I'm sorry." Simmons wouldn't meet Grif's eyes as he spoke. "I was confused, and all I did was take out my frustration on you. And that time I…took advantage of you…I don't know if I can forgive myself for that."

Grif had never heard his comrade talk so openly about his feelings, and honestly, he didn't feel that he could hold a grudge against him. But he didn't know how he felt about the man supposedly being in love with him…he didn't think that men were supposed to fall in love with other men…unless that man was Donut, in which case it couldn't be helped.

"Don't worry about it….just…don't let it happen again…"

If Grif was looking at the other private's face, he would have seen jade-colored eyes sadden at those words, but instead he looked to the ocean, because he was too embarrassed to face Simmons.

They sat there for a while, talking about the kind of nonsense typical of the Red Army, until Grif decided that he would turn in early. But while he found himself laying in bed, he couldn't sleep, instead he thought about Simmons declaration of love and his sudden change in attitude. He still didn't quite understand what had happened to the man to make him so aggressive one minute, and seemingly kind the next. He thought to himself that maybe struggling with feelings for a man, himself – not the world's greatest catch, no less – was so hard on the maroon private that he acted out the way he did. And then he thought about what it meant for him, now that Simmons had confessed to him. Was Simmons going to court him now? How was he supposed to act with the other man? Surely he didn't reciprocate the soldier's feelings…however, he did concede that if he were to be attracted to a man, Simmons would surely be an obvious choice, as he was smart, hard-working, and handsome.

It was much later that night, long after Grif and Donut retired, that he heard Simmons come in, strip, tossing his armor messily around the room, and stumble to the nearby bed and crash into it, reeking of alcohol. Grif pretended to be asleep, though he was mildly concerned about the drunken soldier. He wondered what would make Simmons drink so heavily, as it was unusual for him to drink himself into a stupor, but he decided that it wasn't that important, and eventually fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

In the days and weeks following Simmons' confession of love, Grif realized he was seeing less and less of the aforementioned soldier. Simmons rarely, if ever, joined the team at mealtime, and he made it a point to patrol all day long, into the night, usually coming home long after everyone had gone to bed. Grif supposed it was somewhat odd behavior for the man, but the few times he would bump into Simmons around the base, the maroon Spartan seemed to be acting fairly normal, although he never stuck around long enough for Grif to have a conversation with him. Grif, however, was actually starting to miss him and their typical banter, and he sometimes found himself hoping to bump into him, even just to exchange a good-natured joke or insult.

This morning, Grif entered the bathroom to find Simmons already there, showering. He wanted to shower, too, but he felt a little awkward showering next to the man who was supposedly attracted to him, so he instead settled for shaving at one of the sinks, at least until Simmons was finished. Simmons finished fairly quickly and was walking out of the bathroom, dripping wet and wrapped in a towel, when Grif saw his reflection passing by in the mirror.

"Morning, Dick-weed" Grif said, grinning at Simmons in the mirror. He still liked keeping up the exchange of insults that was typical of the two of them, though now he felt it was more akin to jokes between friends.

"Oh, Grif, hey." Simmons seemed a bit startled, as if he either didn't realize the bathroom was occupied, or thought that he could sneak out without being noticed. The towel-clad solder put his hand behind his head and grinned sheepishly.

"What are your plans for the day?"Grif asked as he carefully shaved along his jawline, before accidently nicked himself and winced, muttering a slur under his breath.

"Um, well, I told Sarge I'd go patrol today so, that's pretty much it." Simmons grinned, though Grif noticed that something about it was not quite right – like when a person's smile doesn't seem to reach their eyes. But Grif supposed that Simmons just wasn't that excited about his patrol duties, and that was why he seemed a little bit off.

"Well, if you want company, I could tag along…" Grif said

"You? Patrolling? Doing work? Yeah, that's okay, why don't you just stick to what you're good at and sit on your ass somewhere with a cigarette." Simmons smirked at the man's reflection in the mirror.

"Okay, be that way. I'd rather sit on my ass, anyway." Grif splashed some water on his face and then toweled it off. When he looked back up, Simmons' reflection was no longer in the mirror in front of him. Grif turned and scanned the bathroom, but the maroon private was already gone, so he merely shrugged to himself and began stripping off his clothes, heading over to the showers.

Grif sat in his usual spot with a cigarette in hand, when a certain flamboyant blonde private approached him.

"Hey Grif, you got a second?" Donut asked.

"Yeah, sure…what's up?" Grif motioned for the rookie to sit beside him.

"Um, well…" Donut twiddled his thumbs nervously, as if he was trying to come up with the right way to say whatever it was that was on his mind.

"Come on rookie, out with it!"

"Well, um….do you think Simmons has been acting a little strange lately?" Donut asked.

Grif raised an eyebrow at the younger man and replied, "What do you mean, 'strange'?"

"Well, he's never around the base anymore, and he's always volunteering to patrol, and he comes home really late..." Donut looked at the orange private, concern written all over his face.

"Oh, don't worry about Simmons, he's just busy being an over-achieving, workaholic, kiss-ass. It comes naturally to him." Grif paused for a moment, in thought, and then continued, "In fact, I'd be more concerned if he wasn't doing that kind of stuff."

Donut sighed. "I guess you're right." The pink private stood up and headed back into the base, leaving Grif alone with his nicotine habit.

Early that evening, Donut informed Grif that Sarge had called an emergency meeting. As he entered their kitchen, he saw that only Sarge and Donut were seated at their small table, and Simmons was no where to be found, which was odd, because he was always the most punctual of their team.

"Men, we have a problem. One of our own has gone AWOL. I need you to find him and drag him back here, pronto!"

It took Grif a moment to register the meaning of Sarge's words, and then he asked, "Wait…you don't mean Simmons, do you?"

"That's exactly who I mean! I radioed him to get back here so he could help me pimp out the Warthog, and he's no where to be found! And if he falls into enemy hands, all of our cybernetic technology will be compromised!"

"What enemy? The Blues aren't our enemy anymore, remember?" Grif asked, exasperated.

Donut whispered a reply to him so that Sarge couldn't hear, "I think he's just so used to ranting about 'the enemy' that he forgot that."

"Now get Simmons back here, on the double!" Sarge commanded.

Grif sighed and headed outside with Donut to start the search.


	6. Chapter 6

Grif and Donut split up to search the canyon, and Grif found himself looking everywhere he could think of for his missing maroon comrade. He even stopped at Blue Base and asked the soldiers there if they had seen Simmons, and they informed him that they had not seen him and had no idea where the man might have gone. It was starting to get late and Grif was getting not only tired, but even a little bit worried, because it was so unlike Simmons to ignore an order from Sarge the way he had, and there was no sign of him anywhere he'd looked thus far. Grif was even starting to think that something terrible might have happened to the soldier, and that he was in some sort of trouble. But he tried to ignore his worries and just continued searching.

It was much later when Grif came upon a small cave that he'd not seen before, and found Simmons lying on the ground, with his helmet and an empty bottle of liquor lying beside him. He sighed. It seemed as though Simmons had merely drunk himself into a stupor and passed out. He walked over to the unconscious man and nudged him with his foot, saying, "Hey, fucktard, wake up."

Simmons didn't stir or respond, so Grif kicked him in the side. "Hey! Get your ass up, Simmons!"

Simmons still didn't stir, and Grif became a little concerned. "Simmons?" He knelt down over the soldier and studied him for a moment. He noticed that his breathing seemed a little shallow, and that his skin looked unusually pale. Grif's eyes widened in fear that the other man was truly ill, suffering from alcohol poisoning. He picked Simmons up and slung one of his arms over his shoulder, carrying the taller man by his side. He then made his way back to Red Base as fast as he could.

When he got there, he informed Sarge of the way he had found Simmons, and they dragged the unconscious man to the infirmary where they laid him down on one of the cots.

"Is he gonna be alright?" Grif asked Sarge. He was worried for his friend, because he knew by his condition that Simmons had consumed far more alcohol than was safe.

"No reason to be worried. When I cybernetically enhanced Simmons I added a feature that would metabolize and destroy any toxin in his body. I just need to activate it, because it seems that he figured out how to disable that feature somehow. I just don't know how he guessed the password to do so…"

Grif sighed and asked, "You made the password "password", didn't you?"


	7. Chapter 7

Grif awoke the next morning, still seated in the chair he'd fallen asleep on, by Simmons' bed in the infirmary. He stood up and stretched, and then sighed as he looked down at his friend, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Last night after Grif carried an unconscious Simmons back to base, Sarge enabled the cyborg's detox apparatus, and over the course of the night, the alcohol in his body was neutralized while he slept. Grif slumped back down into his chair and studied the sleeping man's face – it was so different than usual. While he slept, Simmons didn't have eyebrows furrowed in frustration, or the smirk that he often sported while he made disparaging remarks about Grif. Instead, he looked tranquil, and Grif couldn't help but notice that he also looked very handsome.

After a few minutes, Simmons stirred. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times at the ceiling, confused as to his whereabouts. He looked around, his confused gaze landing on the man sitting beside him.

"Good morning, sunshine." Said Grif, smirking at his companion.

"Grif? Where am I? What are you doing here?" Simmons asked, sitting up, as his blanket fell around him, revealing him to be clad in nothing but his boxer-briefs, as Grif had removed his armor for him the night before while he was unconscious.

"Well, it seems that _someone_ decided it would be a good idea to raid Sarge's liquor cabinet and drink to the point of alcohol poisoning alone in a cave."

"Sorry, Grif, I didn't mean to cause any trouble…" Simmons said, his face betraying his embarrassment.

"Yeah, well, I had to go find you and drag your stupid ass back here, so I think I deserve an explanation." Grif stared at Simmons, who felt very uncomfortable under his steely gaze.

"I-I just…I'm sorry…I really didn't mean for you to have to do that…" Simmons felt very uncomfortable under Grif's gaze, so he instead looked away. He sighed.

"You know, Donut's been worried about you. He thinks you've been acting a little strange lately, and frankly, I think I agree with him," Grif paused for a moment, scrutinizing the man in front of him, "What the fuck is going on with you?"

"Nothing's going on." Simmons stared at the floor, unable to look the other man in the face from embarrassment.

"Liar."

Grif was met with silence, and he sighed. Then he leaned in toward his companion. "Listen," he said, "whatever it is, whatever's bothering you, you can tell me. We're friends, right?"

Simmons met Grif's gaze and clenched his fists by his sides, then turned away and threw his blankets aside and stepped out of bed. As he started to make his way toward the door, Grif jumped to his feet and went after him, and then blocked the door with his body. "You're not leaving until you tell me what the fuck has been up with you lately!" Grif yelled at the other man, who'd stopped just inches from him. Simmons glared at him, but Grif could see something else in his eyes, something softer. Then, as his expression softened, Simmons tenderly placed his hand on Grif's cheek and held it there for a moment as Grif's breath caught in his throat, paralyzed under the other man's stare.

After a few moments, the two were brought back to reality by the cheerful voice of Donut who was approaching them from the hall, carrying a full plate and glass of juice. "Simmons," he started in a sing-song voice, "I brought you some breakfast!" Simmons quickly pulled his hand from the other man's cheek and turned away from him, while Grif continued to stare at him, confused by what had just happened. Donut handed off the food items to Simmons, who then retreated into the infirmary, leaving Grif standing with Donut in the doorway.

Donut looked up at Grif, "Are you okay?"

"Um…Yeah…I'm fine." Grif half-heartedly grinned at the rookie and then turned and headed outside, where he all but collapsed onto the ground against the wall of the base. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and ran over in his mind what had just occurred between him and Simmons as he smoked. In the back of his mind, Grif admitted to himself that he felt something in that moment, something that he couldn't name or understand.


	8. Chapter 8

Grif sat at the tiny kitchen table, staring at the half-eaten ho-ho on the plate before him. He sighed. Ever since things got…weird…with Simmons, he'd mostly lost his appetite. Since Simmons' drunken black-out, Grif and Donut took it upon themselves to raid Sarge's overstocked liquor cabinet one night and pour all the alcohol down the drain before tossing the bottles in the ocean behind the base, to save Simmons from himself, who they suspected was starting to develop a drinking problem. Since then, Grif and Simmons forced themselves to try to return to acting normal, neither one of them bringing up what happened in the infirmary, or Simmons previous confession of love. Grif wanted to forget the whole thing, because if he was truly honest with himself, he had to admit that somehow, he didn't really mind when Simmons had touched him. But he didn't want to think about that, because it was so….unmanly….He may never have been quite as horny and perverted as Tucker, but he knew he liked women. Not men. Definitely not men. He was not Donut.

Grif dragged his hand down his face and sighed again, before getting up from the table and tossing his ho-ho into the trash bin. He then headed back to his shared bunk and threw himself face-down onto his bed, hiding his face in his pillow.

As he lay there, he heard footsteps stop outside the door and then come up beside him. "Grif?" It was Donut.

The orange Spartan merely grunted into his pillow, acknowledging the pink private's presence.

"Grif? Are you okay?" Donut asked.

"Fine…" Grif mumbled into his pillow.

"Are you sure? You look unhappy. Maybe a bubble bath would cheer you up! Or a massage! Want me to give you a massage, Grif? I'm pretty good with my hands!"

Grif moaned a pained cry of frustration and slammed his fists into the mattress. He then threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat up of the edge, holding his head in his hands. "No Donut. I don't need a massage." He said, exasperatedly.

"Are you sure? I have massage oils and everything!" Donut replied enthusiastically.

"NO!"

The sun was setting over the water as Grif trudged out of the base in his fatigues, heading to his usual smoking spot when a gruff southern accent stopped him.

"Hey, Grif, get yer lazy ass over here! We need a test dummy for the warthog's new gun turret!" Sarge yelled. The older Spartan was standing beneath an upside-down warthog which was balanced atop a few moveable titanium shields. Simmons was standing beside him, both men covered in dirt and grease.

Grif sighed. "Isn't that what we have the "HoloGrifs" for?"

Sarge opened his mouth to retort when Simmons cut him off. "Sir, it would be more practical to test it out in the simulation chamber. Besides, then you can shoot as many Grifs as you want, without the mess."

Sarge thought for a moment, and then agreed with his subordinate, before heading off back into the base, presumably to the underground simulation chamber, as Grif breathed a sigh of relief, secretly thankful for Simmons' ass-kissing for once. Once Sarge disappeared inside, he found a spot along the wall of the base and sat down against it, immediately placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it. He glanced over at Simmons, who was busy working on the warthog. He didn't realize he was staring at him until the other man turned and looked at him quizzically. Grif quickly turned away and felt heat rise in his cheeks as he heard footsteps walk by him. When he looked back, Simmons was gone. The orange Spartan closed his eyes and banged the back of his head against the wall, cigarette dangling from his lips. "Damnit…"

A little bit later as Grif sat outside chain-smoking, he heard a familiar voice calling from nearby. "Private McMuffin? Private McMuffin! Are you hiding? Are we playing hide and seek?" Caboose came around the side of the base, searching for a certain pink private. It took the young man a few minutes to even notice Grif's presence, and then he asked, "Have you seen Private McMuffin?"

"Yeah, sure. He's inside somewhere." Grif eyed the Blue soldier. The kid was dressed in fatigues and a wife beater, and he noticed that Caboose had not one, but two sets of dog tags hanging around his neck. "Hey Caboose," he started, "can I ask you a question?"

"Is it a math question? I don't like math questions."

"No, uh…it's not a math question. Caboose, why do you have to sets of dog tags?"

Caboose answered him flatly, "I don't want to talk about that." And then the private headed into the base, calling for "Private Biscuit".

Grif shrugged and lit another cigarette.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own anything – not Halo, not RvB, etc.

Warning: GAY. As in butt-sex. So if you don't want to see that, stop right here, turn around, and march.

Author's Note: I am very sorry that it took me so long to update this story. Honestly, I was so worried that this chapter would be terrible that I kept procrastinating. So I think I've finally made it about as good as possible…please be gentle with your reviews…I've never written a lemon…none-the-less a slash one….And thanks to those of you who have reviewed, I really, really appreciate it!

Later that evening when Grif decided to retire for the night, he found Simmons busily making his way around the room. He thought at first that the cyborg was just tidying up, as he tended to do often, until he saw the open duffle bag sitting on the man's bed.

"Hey, you got leave? Lucky bastard. Where are you going?" Grif asked, only remotely interested, as he leaned against the far wall of their shared room, arms crossed. Simmons visibly tensed up at the question though, and refused to turn around to face the other man as he answered.

"I…It's not a vacation. I'm being transferred." Simmons said, his voice unusually and forcibly steady.

"Wh-What? What do you mean you're being transferred?" Grif jumped away from the wall and toward his roommate, grabbing the taller man by the shoulder and spinning him around to face him. Shock and confusion was clearly written all over Grif's face. He thought that Command wasn't accepting any new transfers….unless this was an old request that was only just approved? Had Simmons already put in a request ages ago and not told him? "I thought Command wasn't accepting any transfer requests!" He said, his bright blue eyes boring into Simmons' jade ones.

"They weren't. Not for simulation trooper posts. I'm being transferred to Command's IT department." Simmons said rather matter-of-factly, his voice devoid of emotion. His face reflected the lack of emotion as well.

"You requested a transfer and didn't tell me?" Grif screamed, his hands balling into tightly clenched fists. At first he was confused and shocked, but now those feelings were quickly giving way to anger. His eyes had narrowed and he unconsciously clenched his jaw as he waited for a reply. He had thought Simmons was his friend, his best friend, even, despite their sometimes rocky relationship, but he couldn't believe that the man would even consider doing something like this without telling him.

Simmons merely stared at him quietly, almost as though he was just waiting for Grif's temper-tantrum to end, and as though he hadn't cared about the man's reaction at all. Like it didn't bother him that Grif felt betrayed by his closest friend.

And Grif's anger suddenly exploded, and he found himself throwing a punch at the cyborg's face. Unfortunately for him, his fist was all too easily caught by a cybernetic hand before it could reach its destination. Simmons pulled Grif's arm down to the side and shifted his grip to the man's wrist, mechanical fingers locking tightly around it.

The orange Spartan hadn't realized just how close he'd gotten to the other man until he felt his own heart pounding in his chest, threatening to burst out through his ribcage. And without thinking, he lunged forward, bringing his free hand to the back of Simmons' head, pulling him roughly and forcefully into firey hot kiss. Simmons was so caught off-guard that his jade-green eyes widened like saucers and his lips parted in surprise, and Grif promptly forced his tongue into the other soldier's mouth. After only a moment, Grif felt the other man return his kiss as strong arms wrapped around his neck and waist, pulling him flush with maroon Spartan's body.

In the back of his mind, Grif couldn't believe what he was doing, but he didn't have much time to think about it, as Simmons roughly shoved him up against the wall on which he'd previously been leaning, and started kissing and sucking at his neck, just the way he had done that time before, only this time, Grif was accepting it willingly, if the deep moans coming from his throat were any indication. It had been so long since he'd had this kind of sensual contact and he didn't want it to stop. Oh dear god, he didn't want it to stop. Grif wrapped his arms around the taller man and found himself clutching at Simmons short, caramel-colored hair, while lips teased the flesh on his neck. It wasn't long before he started feeling heat pooling in his groin as he became hard under the touch of his comrade.

Simmons reached out a hand to the nearby bedroom door and locked it, before guiding the other man to the bed while kissing him feverishly, where he pushed Grif down and straddled him, sitting up for a moment to peel off his own shirt, before leaning down and catching Grif's lips in another kiss. Simmons' mouth smothered a moan when Grif felt hands underneath his shirt, teasing his nipples, arching his back into the touch.

Simmons paused briefly to tug the other man's shirt off over his head, tossing it carelessly aside, revealing tan skin contrasted against patches of paleness – the parts of Grif that once belonged to Simmons. Then he found one of Grif's nipples with his lips, caressing and flicking it with his tongue, causing the man under him to moan loudly in pleasure. Simmons lifted his head from the other man's chest and moved up to his ear, as one of his hands ghosted over Grif's tan skin to the waistband of his pants, where he momentarily rested it.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Simmons whispered, his voice deep and husky in his arousal.

Grif's eyes opened slightly, gazing off toward the ceiling as he contemplated his situation, breathing heavily, his chest heaving up and down. He was going to be fucked. By Simmons. Yet somehow, he didn't care. He was apprehensive though, because he knew this was going to hurt. But his arousal was too overwhelming to let that stop him. He needed this. Hell, they both needed this.

"Yes…" was all he could reply, his own voice low and dripping with desire. Simmons lips once again caught his own, but this time, the kiss was not so forceful and needy, instead it was almost gentle and reassuring. He forced himself to relax as he kicked off his boots and Simmons tugged down his pants and boxers, letting them fall to the floor, freeing his erection, and leaving him clad only in his socks. Simmons sat back up to hastily remove his own shoes and clothing, revealing that he was equally aroused and even more endowed. Grif took in the other man's appearance through half-lidded eyes. God, he really was hot. Despite all the scars, and the patches of slightly mis-matched synthetic skin, Simmons was really a sight to be seen. He was broad-shouldered and extremely muscular, and his face looked chiseled, with a strong jaw and piercing, green eyes. Simmons repositioned himself over the smaller man, setting himself between Grif's tanned thighs, spreading the smaller man's legs.

Simmons placed his fingers to his partner's lips, "Suck them," he said, and Grif took them into his mouth without question, licking and sucking as he had been told. Then Simmons leaned over the taut body beneath him and resumed licking and teasing Grif's nipple as one of the cyborg's newly wet fingers pressed up against Grif's entrance. The orange Spartan involuntarily tensed, and in response Simmons bit down on the nipple in his mouth, earning a surprised gasp as Grif arched his back in ecstasy. The cyborg then pushed into Grif with one of his fingers, making him tense again.

"You're going to have to relax..." Simmons breathed, glancing back up at his partner's face. When Grif nodded in response, he pushed into him with another finger and started stroking the inside of him, until he found the spot that caused Grif to tremble beneath him, reeling from waves of pleasure.

"Please…just…do it…!" Grif managed to force out between waves, each one sending electricity surging up his spine and coursing through his veins. He tried to suppress his moans, even though he knew it was mostly futile.

Simmons pulled out his fingers and quickly spat on his hands and then lubricated his own erection thoroughly before pressing the tip of his cock up against Grif's entrance. Then he slowly pushed inward, Grif's body tensing up around him. Once he was deep enough, he paused a moment as the other Spartan adjusted to the pressure of Simmons' cock inside of him.

Then the cyborg slowly started pulling out and then pushing back into him, his hands gripping tightly on Grif's hips. Grif's teeth were clenched as he groaned in pain, his hands at his sides gripping into the bed sheets. As Simmons gained more momentum, Grif felt him hit his prostate, and it felt like fireworks flying up his spine. And he cried out in ecstasy, and then Simmons hit it again, and again, and again.

"Fuck..!" Grif moaned, his back arched and his head thrown back, and he clenched the sheets even tighter as Simmons picked up even more speed and force with every thrust. And when he felt a hand close firmly around his cock he gasped at the contact.

As he repeatedly thrust into him, Simmons gripped Grif's hip with one hand and with the other he firmly stroked the smaller man's cock faster and faster until the rate of his synchronized thrusts and strokes was absolutely ferocious.

Grif could barely even make intelligible sounds to tell his partner how good it felt, because his mind was completely hazed over in pleasure, and the only sounds that came from his lips were loud, inaudible moans. "Dick…so…good…" he panted breathily.

He tried to control himself, but it was more than he could handle, and then Grif very nearly howled as he suddenly tensed up and came all over his partner's hand, and he barely noticed when Simmons came inside of him just a few moments later, warmth spilling into him.

Then Simmons released Grif's softening cock and pulled out of him. He grabbed one of the discarded shirts from the floor and wiped the both of them clean before tossing it toward the laundry hamper and laying down beside the tan Hawaiian, draping his limbs over him almost possessively. Simmons propped himself up on one elbow, looked Grif in the eyes, and smirked at him.

"I guess I could tell Command to go find someone else for that job…" Simmons said.

Grif smiled back at him, still riding the high from his orgasm. "Good," was all he said.

Simmons layed back down and pulled the smaller man closer to him, and for a few minutes they stayed like that in silence until Grif turned to his partner and asked, "Simmons?"

"Mhmm?" The cyborg had one arm slung over Grif's torso while the other was folded, cushioning his head.

"Where did you learn to do…all that?"

"Oh you know….the usual places…" Simmons said, smirking.

Grif cocked an eyebrow, "Right…"

A few more minutes passed in comfortable silence, and then Grif spoke up again, with a hint of apprehension in his voice, "That time I found you in the cave…that's not going to happen again, right?"

Simmons sat up, Grif following suit beside him. Simmons looked down at his hands in his lap and replied, "Sometimes when a person wants something more than anything, and they don't see any hope of getting it, they try to forget about it," the maroon Spartan said, and then looked straight into Grif's blue eyes before continuing, "but now that it's right in front of me, I don't think I'll be trying to forget about it ever again."

Grif smiled and leaned in and caught Simmons in a passionate yet gentle kiss, and laid back down on the bed, pulling the other man down with him.

Donut stood in the hall outside his room, his eyes wide and mouth agape. He'd walked up to the door, and as he went to open it, he heard what could only be moans-of pleasure-emanating from the inside of the room. He wanted to walk away, and give his comrades some privacy, but he was frozen on the spot, much like a witness to a train wreck who could not pull his eyes away from it.

"Well damn. I always thought I'd be the one doing the hanky-panky in that room…." Donut said to himself after the room seemed to have quieted down and he started to regain his senses.

"What's that, Cupcake?" Sarge asked as he appeared around a corner, surprising the pink private.

Donut stiffened and then quickly replied, "Nothing, sir! Just thinking aloud!"

The standard-issue-red Spartan looked at him quizzically and then shrugged before walking away, Donut sighing in relief at his retreating form.

"Man, those two are gonna owe me big-time for keeping my mouth shut about this!"


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Don't own Halo or RvB.

Epilogue-

Inside of Blue Base, Donut awoke to the sounds of soft sobbing coming from one of the other beds. Groggily, he turned to face to source of the noise in the dark, looking to the outline of a man sitting hunched over in the bed beside his, in the fetal position.

"Caboose?" Donut whispered to the sobbing form as he sat up in his own bed.

The man in the other bed sniffled and replied softly, "Did I wake you up, Private Biscuit?"

Donut sighed to himself and crawled out of his own bed and onto his friend's bed, sitting beside him. In the dim light he could see that Caboose was hunched with his knees to his chest, and in his hands was one of the two sets of dog tags hanging around the Blue's neck, reading "L. L. Church".

"Are you okay, Caboose?" Donut asked, but he already knew the answer. He knew his friend had taken the Blue leader's disappearance hard.

"I-I just miss him…" Caboose replied softly, sniffling.

Donut wrapped his arms around the taller man and pulled him close. "I know you do, sweetie."

Caboose leaned into the pink private's embrace, wrapping his arms around the Red and muffling his face into the man's shoulder.

For a few minutes they stayed like that in the dark, Donut holding the crying blonde, stroking his back, as a sleeping Tucker snored lightly in the background from his own bed.

Then Caboose finally spoke up, his voice barely a whisper, "What if he never comes back?"

Donut thought for a moment, then replied in a whisper, "Caboose, you told me that Church said that memory is the key, and he said that you were in charge of remembering him. If you remember him, he'll always be with you."

"What if…what if I forget?"

Donut pulled away from his friend and gently lifted Caboose's head up by his chin, meeting the soldier's brown eyes with his hazel ones. "If you forget, I'll be here to help you remember again."

Caboose wiped at his teary eyes with his pajama sleeve and then nodded. "Okay."

Donut once again embraced the Blue and held him close, and they stayed like that until Caboose's breathing evened out again, signaling that he had finally stopped crying.

"Are you ready to try to get some sleep now?" Donut asked in a whisper.

When Caboose nodded again, Donut shifted and planted his feet on the ground beside the bed, but when he tried to get up, he felt something holding onto him. He looked back at Caboose, mildly confused. "Is everything okay?"

"Will you…will you…stay with me?" Caboose timidly asked, one hand grasping onto the back of Donut's shirt.

Donut looked at him briefly, then nodded, and climbed back onto the bed, snuggling into the space beside him, before pulling the blankets up over them both.

The following morning, Tucker stood in his shared bunk, with a look of disgust and horror on his face. He'd awoken to find Donut and Caboose sharing a bed, spooning. "Queers…" the teal soldier muttered, shaking his head, before disappearing into the hallway.

Meanwhile, miles away from Valhalla, a grey-haired, middle-aged man stood before a tiny, cramped prison cell, in which there was one single female inmate – a petite Asian young woman with boyishly short black hair and dark eyes.

"Good morning, Agent California. I was hoping we could have a little chat…" the man said, with a British accent.


End file.
